Opinion: The meaning of “South Asian,” a double op-ed

During my first few days in this country — and hence, in Grinnell — a professor mentioned, “Oh, I went to a South Asian dance ensemble this summer.” I paused. South Asian? What exactly did that mean? 

Growing up in India, I rarely encountered the term "South Asia." Instead, we referred to the Grinnell classroom's geographic imagination of the place as "the subcontinent." It is mostly a geographic term,  not a cultural one. Yet, in recent years, I've increasingly referred to myself as "South Asian." But why? 

To me, identifying as South Asian symbolizes solidarity. Historically, this region has endured significant turmoil — internally and against colonizers — and today continues to experience political, economic, and military strife. Thus, embracing a South Asian identity in an international community like Grinnell is to assert that we share undeniably common spaces of cuisine, sports, religious traditions and more. When I identify as South Asian or refer to something as a product of South Asia, I am highlighting our collective cultural landscape. 

However — and this is critical — "South Asia" can unjustly simplify our true diversity. We must never assume homogeneity amongst us. Despite some commonalities, our festivals, foods, clothing, and perspectives still differ greatly. Politically and historically, this is even more so. Attend one of the Friday "Middle of Everywhere" sessions, and if you're lucky to catch one of us presenting, you will see for yourself. Using "South Asian" indiscriminately, without considering if something truly represents our shared experiences, risks falling for the Westerner's convenience, by putting us into their categories.Yes, it is difficult to figure out the differences; no, we don't have to make it easy for everyone. Honestly, can two billion people genuinely fit under one term? 

I admit that I, too, have occasionally overused the "South Asian" label, mostly because it’s the convenient shorthand here. At the cost of repetition, yes, we indeed share extensive traditions and historical ties. Yet, we also have our unique regional and national specificities. Kashmiri wool (you might know it's weirdly pronounced version "cashmere"), Darjeeling tea, and Assamese silk are just a few examples of distinct regional treasures. Grouping them as "South Asian" does an injustice to their individual origins and obscures the richness of other regions.   

To my friends from our part of the world —  don’t sell yourself short by conforming to Western, and sadly Grinnellian, ease and comfort. And to my friends from elsewhere-remember that our two billion individuals embody remarkable diversity. However, also make sure that you correctly identify things as South Asian when there exists a shared claim and experience — as I first said, this is a term of solidarity, nevertheless. The things we share often transcend national boundaries. Even our supposedly regional traditions often cross the international border. I am South Asian, Indian and Bengali — all at once, and so are many South Asians. 

What can calling ourselves South Asian do for us? For one, it puts us together into this shared history and culture that we value, especially when we move abroad for our own pursuits. It creates a space for us where, even in a foreign country, we can still retain our sense of belonging to our homeland.  

However, I would agree with what Parikshit said, in that we would also put ourselves at the risk of self-homogenizing the entire region. This boils down to what constitutes a South Asian identity.  

Some people may say it would be a colonized history. The problem is that there are areas that were never colonized, like Bhutan and Nepal. Even within Bangladesh, India, and Pakistan, not all regions were a colony under the British. Even areas like Afghanistan and Myanmar have somewhat shared a colonial history, but would a South Asian consider this a part of their identity? And what about Mauritius and the Maldives? They are part of the Indian Ocean with relative proximity to the South Asian landmass, but would they share similar cultures? 

We could move beyond this history and base it on the traditions that we all share. The issue lies again on what is propagated as a South Asian tradition and how it neglects the subtleties of what is actually practiced in South Asia. Take Diwali and Holi for example, the two quintessential festivals enjoyed by many of us diaspora. The issue with this is that these festivals are celebrated in North India, around 300 million people or so. What this means is that even in India, a country 1.2 billion strong, you cannot assume someone celebrates either Diwali or Holi — for example, Parikshit never celebrated any of these before coming to Grinnell. 

Not even food or beverages can be part of the homogenous identity. For the case of biryani, it is mostly local to areas like Bangladesh, Pakistan, and North India. Sri Lanka, the Northeast, the islands and even areas of South India hold vastly different styles of cuisine, one that do not even consider biryani in their palate. Even something as ubiquitously loved as masala chai cannot be considered a universal beverage since Kashmir and Ladakh have their own variants of chai, using salts and butter local to the Himalayas, containing flavor profiles so different that it cannot be compared to the spice-rich teas of the greater subcontinent.